


growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

by impossibleamypond



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Actual Choking, Angst, Dubious Content, Force Choking, Humor, Love/Hate, M/M, Not Actually Love But Close to It, Ridiculously Overdramatic Adult Males Behaving Like Children, Slow Build, Slow Burn, UST, Who the hell left these two in charge?, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5981593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossibleamypond/pseuds/impossibleamypond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pauses in the doorway, debating his options. He could turn around and pretend like his subconscious hasn’t brought him here or he could press his palm to the control panel, step into the ward, and admit that there’s a slight chance that he might give a damn about Kylo Ren.</p><p>His stomach turns at the thought, the bitter taste of acid creeping up his throat.</p><p>In total and completely sincere honesty, he would rather set himself on fire.</p><p>[Or General Hux has a big old crush on Kylo Ren and neither one of them is handling it very well.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was supposed to be a short, humorous fic of all the reasons why Hux and Kylo Ren think that the other is the Absolute Worst, but it turns out the joke's on me because this is what happened instead. 
> 
> This fic wouldn't exist without my amazing roommate, [Aisling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aisling_in_outer_space), who not only witnessed my descent into madness, but encouraged it. 
> 
> The title comes from the Florence + the Machine song, "Landscape". Enjoy!

“-and I don’t _care_ how it’s done, just see that it is!”

The hologram of Snoke cuts out abruptly, his image disintegrating into a million shimmering particles, leaving the two men alone in the vast, silent hall. 

With practiced precision, Hux turns towards Ren, the same tight expression twisting his features into a sour mask of arrogance. “Well, _that_ went well,” he sniffs coldly, a sharpness in his watery eyes. 

“Quite,” says the other, the word positively drenched in derision.

It makes Hux huff in annoyance. “You’re the worst,” he spits before turning on his heel and marching out of the chamber.

*

There’s a partially-healed split in his bottom lip that reopens and stings when he speaks, so he keeps silent as the general outlines a plan of attack on the small and, in his opinion, inconsequential, moon. It’s a flawed plan, riddled with holes so wide a Star Destroyer could maneuver through them with ease, but he bites his tongue, knowing better than to disrupt Hux when he’s in the throes of his mania.

And people say that _he’s_ the obsessive one. 

It’s only once the last lieutenant has filed out of the room that Kylo voices his concerns. “It won’t work.”

Hux stiffens, abandoning the small pile of data chips on the table. “I beg your pardon?” he asks, each word crisp and stilted and dripping with offense. 

“Your plan - it’s flawed. It won’t work.”

“Oh, this ought to be good,” Hux mutters darkly. He folds his arms over his chest. “On what grounds do you make your accusation? The last time I checked, I was the one with tactical and logistical training and you were the one messing about with ancient magic.” 

Behind his mask, Kylo scowls at the general. “It’s _not_ magic,” he snaps, unable to keep the defensive edge out of his voice. “But I wouldn’t expect someone so small of mind to understand the complexities of the Force.”

A rueful smile twists Hux’s mouth and the white of his teeth flashes in the low light of the room as he laughs. “I understand it just fine, Ren. What I don’t understand is how you fail to see the difference between your precious Force and the magicians who perform at a child’s birthday party. Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t magicians also wave their hands to make objects move?” Hux hums in contemplation, making a show of tapping his index finger to the cleft in his chin. The taunt rolls off his forked tongue, which damn near slithers out of his mouth as he smiles - a tight, controlled thing - at the masked man before him. 

Kylo can feel the first licks of white hot anger flaring at his heels, but he ignores it, clenching his fists at his side. There’s little he can do to physically harm Hux - the Supreme Leader has forbidden Kylo from laying a hand, physical or otherwise, on the general, but that doesn’t mean he can’t visualize choking the life out of the man: the color fading from his face as his lips turned blue and he sputtered, _begging_ to be released even as his eyes rolled back into his head and - 

(Unbeknownst to either man, a sentry posted outside of the War Room begins to sputter as an invisible hand wraps around his throat.)

His upper lip curls back and as much as he wants to snarl out an insult, Kylo ignores the urge and, with a slightly dramatic whirl of his cloak, storms out of the room.

* 

Bright beams of white shoot out from the darkness and for a moment, Kylo thinks that this is it: the cold hands of death have come to pull him into oblivion at last. He feels relieved, his entire body sagging forward as he sighs, a jagged thing that crawls up his throat and nearly chokes him.

It’s strange how death is so cold when the light that illuminates his path is so blinding. Yet he finds himself eager to walk it, eager to see what lies at the end of the tunnel. It would be folly to hope for anything he expects yet he fears what he knows he ultimately deserves. 

Just as he begins to give into the chill that creeps behind his eyes, something as hot as fire ceases him by the chest in a vice. It pulls him up, up, up - or tries to. Several times, he slips, falling back into the cold and that precious relief. But then the fire is back, gripping him tighter this time, and it _drags_ him the way flames chase oil back to its source. He fights against it, wanting to give into the light that beckons him.

“Damn it, Ren.” The voice at his ear is cold, though the words are laced with fire. Anger, he recognizes it well. _Knows_ it well yet he can’t rouse himself to feel it. He feels nothing; he is numb and cold but his chest - his chest blazes with fire and he tries to turn away from it again, but can’t because _that voice_ is at his ear again. 

Warm lips brush his cheek as Hux hisses, “Get up, you sack of bantha fodder. _Stars_ , if I were a smarter man, I’d leave you, but Snoke gave his orders. Always, with the orders.”

Kylo blinks, trying to clear his eyes of the ice and the light, but he can’t. His fingers scramble for purchase and he finds the arm draped across his chest. Follows it up to the face that looms over him. The face that sneers at him as the other manages to get Kylo’s arm over his shoulder and, with a grunt, hoists him up.

As they walk towards the waiting ship, Kylo stumbles, leaning heavily into Hux’s body. “G-General?” he breathes out. 

“No, it’s your mother.” Hux rolls his eyes at him as he leads them up the ramp, staggering from the effort. “Of course it’s me. Who else would come back and save your sorry ass?”

A laugh bubbles in Kylo’s chest, but blood leaks out of the corner of his mouth instead, staining his teeth a vicious red as he glares at the man - his rescuer, his kriffing _savior_ \- beside him. “Y-you’re the w-w-w-”

The insult dies on his lips as he succumbs to unconsciousness. Unable to support his own body weight, he sags into Hux, who nearly topples beneath the sudden addition of weight. Luckily, there are several crewmen waiting for them at the top of the ramp and they rush forward to relieve their leader of his burden.

* 

Hux doesn’t know what he’s doing here, exactly, but his feet have brought him to the med bay at their own accord, it seems. He blames it on distraction; he has been so preoccupied with cleaning up the mess of the destruction of the Starkiller base that he can’t focus on anything else, much less anything as mundane as where his feet carry him.

He pauses in the doorway, debating his options. He could turn around and pretend like his subconscious hasn’t brought him here or he could press his palm to the control panel, step into the ward, and admit that there’s a _slight_ chance that he might give a damn about Kylo Ren. 

His stomach turns at the thought, the bitter taste of acid creeping up his throat. 

In total and completely sincere honesty, he would rather set himself on fire. 

“Imbecile,” he mutters under his breath, though he can’t decide whether he’s talking about the man who lays prone in the medical bay or himself.

* 

“What are you doing here?”

The words come out in a snarl, but Phasma is completely unfazed by them. Even without her chrome plated armor, she’s stoic in the face of his anger, which, she knows, is not actually directed at her. 

“I’ve come to check on your progress, sir,” she answers. 

Kylo notes that she has a few wounds of her own: a fading, but still prominent bruise on the left side of her cheek, her left arm in a sling. But mostly, it’s her dignity that’s been damaged, what with the truth of her whereabouts during the fiasco of the Starkiller base coming to light in the last week. 

He doesn’t envy her, even if her shame lessens his defeat at the hands of two untrained _children_.

“I’m fine.”

“Your doctor doesn’t seem to think so,” she replies bluntly. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard in physical therapy.”

“What concern is that of yours?”

“A rather large one, sir. What good are you to the First Order if you continue to spend all of your time in the medical bay? We need you.”

The insistence in her voice gives him pause. “We?”

“Yes, we - the First Order, the Supreme Leader.”

He refuses to acknowledge that pang of disappointment that resonates in his chest at her words, at the omission of a name he shouldn’t _want_ to hear but does. It’s stupid of him. Senseless, even. The pain medication has dulled his facilities, including the edge of his disdain for the general. The need he feels is not desire - that much he knows for certain. No, it’s more the need to know that without him, Hux is completely useless, failing in every possible way. 

“You can’t very well assist us in bringing down the Resistance from the comforts of your bed, now can you?” prompts Phasma, raising a slender blonde eyebrow.

If there is one thing that has always impressed him about Phasma, it’s her unflinching approach to any and all matters. She doesn’t sugarcoat. She doesn’t walk on eggshells around her superiors. Some might consider her willingness to offer her opinion without prompting an act of insubordination, but he thinks that it’s refreshing. Everything she does, she does for the First Order. Everything she does, she does in the name of the Supreme Leader. Aside from himself, she is his most loyal soldier.

“No,” he grunts as he shifts in his bed, gritting his teeth against the sudden stab of pain in his side. One week later and the flesh is still tender. After several bacta treatments, the wound is still raw. He has no one to blame but himself because she’s right - he has pushed himself too hard too fast, and the exhaustion is taking its toll on him. “No, I can’t.”

“Good,” says Phasma with a curt nod. “Now, if there’s anything else you need from me, sir -” 

“I didn’t need this visit in the first place, Captain,” he interrupts, his tongue turning acidic on the last word. “So why would I need anything else from you?”

There’s no shift in her expression at all. She doesn’t narrow her eyes or frown. She doesn’t purse her lips and scowl at him. She doesn’t even blink as she says, without a moment’s hesitation, “Good day, sir.”

* 

It’s been weeks since the destruction of the Starkiller base and for the most part, he’s healed. His side is no longer a problem and physical therapy has cured him of his limp, but the scar on his face is still livid, a vicious streak of deep red and tender pink with crusted brown scabs all along the perimeter of the wound. It’s a nasty thing, jagged and awful, and it aches at all hours of the day, but he swallows the pain just as he swallows his grimace as he stares at the mirror, horrified by the twisted monster that’s reflected back at him.

Despite the doctor’s strict orders, he eases his mask - a new one as his previous mask was lost in the woods - onto his head, snapping it into place. The shroud of darkness is familiar, a comfort, even, and he clings to it as he palms the access port and exits his quarters, his thick, black cloak billowing behind him as he does. 

As he stalks down the halls, he’s pleased to feel that he can still inflict fear in the men and women he passes. It slips off them in slithery ropes, which wrap themselves around him in black bands that snake beneath his skin, feeding his soul. He consumes it greedily, damn near basking in the glow as he makes his way towards the transmission chamber. 

Halfway there, he’s intercepted by a tall, ginger-haired man who has the graciousness to look startled by the sight of him. 

“Kylo,” says Hux, a distinct note of surprise dancing in the word. Twin spots of red appear high in his cheeks. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Curious. Hux has never given a damn about him and suddenly, he’s inquiring after his health? It’s so ridiculous that Kylo can’t help but scoff a little. “No need. I was cleared for duty this morning.”

Hux raises a thin eyebrow at that. “I was led to believe that your leave extended well into next week.”

“You were wrong, General.”

Hux’s frustration is so palpable that it takes everything in Kylo not to smile behind his mask - smiling is painful. Excruciating, even, as the muscles in his face stretch and pull at the tender scar. All the same, he can’t help the spike of poorly contained glee from coursing through him at the sight of the man’s flustered face. He’s always taken pride in upsetting Hux’s life at every turn possible, but so soon into his return to active duty? He couldn’t ask for anything better on his first day back. 

“So it would seem,” Hux sniffs, a cold look in his blue eyes. “If you were headed to the transmission chamber, there’s no need. Snoke is here on base.”

Not for the first time, Kylo is thankful for his mask. He doesn’t want to give Hux the satisfaction of catching him off-guard. A slight frown tugs at his mouth and he winces, grinding his teeth against the sharp sting of a scab being pulled open. If the Supreme Leader is here, why hadn’t he been informed? Usually, Snoke contacted him via the Force, but perhaps he was being careful now that they knew Skywalker and the girl were listening. 

Yes, that must be it, that’s the only logical explanation. 

Satisfied by his deduction, Kylo turns to Hux. “Lead the way.”

Hux raises a brow at him again, but doesn’t step forwards. “You know the way as well as I do,” he replies archly. “ _You_ lead the way.”

Annoyance prickles beneath the surface of his skin, spreading all over his body until it’s all he can do to bite his tongue and swallow his pride. Which, in a surprising act of humility, he does, clasping his arms behind his back and leading the way towards the throne room.

*

It’s hardly the crushing blow of a final defeat, but the Resistance suffers enough losses early on in the battle for them to retreat. The deck erupts in victorious shouts as the so-called fearsome Resistance turns its tail and flees, each ship winking out of sight. Hux knows he should put an end to their celebrating, but he can’t bring himself to deny them this small victory, especially after their string of losses.

“Should we pursue, General?” one of the deck officers asks. 

Hux glances at Ren, who has been staring out of the viewport of the _Finalizer_ since the beginning of the battle. Why, Hux has no idea, but it’s odd to see him so still when he’s usually fitful and restless at the best of times, pacing the length of the bridge in long, commanding strides, his cloak billowing behind him in such a way that he looks every bit like a giant mynock, frightening every single person he passes.

“No,” answers Hux, his eyes still on Ren. “I think we’ve humiliated them enough for one day, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir!” the officer replies, lips splitting into a wide grin. 

The officer’s enthusiasm is so palpable that even Hux manages a smile. “Set coordinates for home,” he orders the officer, who nods in affirmation and swivels in his chair to input the correct course. 

Clasping his hands behind his back, he walks over to where Ren is leaning against a bank of computers. His shoulders are hunched, his arms are folded over his chest, and if he removed his helmet, Hux wouldn’t be surprised to see a frown painted upon his pouty lips. 

Without breaking his gaze from his point of focus, Ren addresses him, his voice cool and carefully modulated. “Good work, General.”

The compliment takes Hux by surprise. Not once in their long acquaintance has Kylo Ren offered any form of praise to the general (at least not willingly), but this time - this one instance in which they are both united in the same goal of exacting revenge for the humiliation dealt to them in the events of the Starkiller base - this time, he feels, it’s deserved.

Which is why he has no problem accepting it, awkward though it is. “Thank you, Ren,” Hux replies, with a sharp nod of his head. “It wouldn’t have been possible without the information you brought to us, so I suppose I should thank you as well.”

“Duly noted.”

Hux snorts. “I thought you’d be a little more gratified than that. Aren’t you the least bit happy that we beat the Resistance?”

Ren casts a look at the bridge crew, who are deep in the throes of shaking hands and exchanging hugs. He can feel the little sunbursts of their joy, a bright light against the darkness of his thoughts. It’s uncomfortable and intrusive; he shies away from it, pulling the twisting shadows around his mind like a shroud. 

“I don’t celebrate.” 

For reasons he can’t quite place, Hux feels the urge to inquire after Ren’s well-being. While it’s not entirely out of character for him to mope - there was a time early in their acquaintance when Hux wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t his primary emotion - it _is_ strange to see him so subdue in the face of a victory. Especially one that he had a hand in crafting; without the intel Ren managed to pull from the Resistance spy’s mind, the First Order would never have known the location of their newest base. 

Not wanting to hover any longer than necessary, Hux clears his throat and moves to step away from Ren so that he can brood in peace when the man in question speaks. 

“It’s supposed to be mine.”

Hux pauses, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“The ship. It’s my birthright.” There’s a raw edge to his voice as he speaks, a misplaced emotion that doesn’t quite match up with the cool chrome and flat black of his mask. “The _Millennium Falcon_.” 

While Ren’s lineage is hardly a secret amongst the First Order, it is surprising to hear him mention it willingly. In all of the years that he’s known Ren, Hux has only heard him mention his family a handful of times, usually at the behest of Snoke, who mined his apprentice for as much information as he could in the hopes of using it as a weapon against his enemies. 

Hux frowns, a little perplexed by Ren’s openness - and with _him_ , of all people. “What about it?”

It’s then that Hux notices that Ren is shaking; his entire body seems to vibrate as he flexes his fingers into fists at his side. As if he’s trying to contain his rage rather than unleash it upon the unused computer bank.

“ _She_ was flying it,” Kylo intones in a low, harsh growl that raises the hair on the back of Hux’s neck. He has heard every inflection of anger, annoyance, frustration, and rage in the other’s voice that he’s begun to think that there’s not an edge of harshness that Kylo’s words haven’t danced upon, but he has never heard such unbridled _fury_ twisting the man’s voice into something so cruel and unfeeling. 

Fighting back a shiver isn’t easy, but Hux manages as he clasps his hands behind his back and stares at the conundrum standing before him. Fury and sadness, rage and despair. It’s a dangerous mixture, one that Hux has spent more time worrying about that he probably should. Before, his concern was strictly professional as Ren’s unpredictable emotions could compromise their mission. Now, however, there’s a genuine thread of concern weaving through the thoughts that filter through his mind, and the concern is - well, worrisome - and entirely misplaced.

Hux doesn’t really know what to say, so he keeps his mouth shut, pressing his lips into a thin line as he lowers his head in silent acknowledgement of the other’s pain. Quietly, he takes his leave.

* 

Sleep is not easy for Kylo.

Since he was a child, he’s found it difficult to fall asleep and stay sleeping throughout the night as nightmares have plagued him for all of his life. When he was young, it was silly things like losing the things he loved most due to his own personal failings, of never quite being enough. Now, night after night, he stares into his father’s eyes and watches as the life flickers. Just as it begins to fade, he jolts awake, gasping hard against the burning in his lungs and the tightness in his chest. 

Usually, he doesn’t fall back to sleep, but Kylo has been so exhausted these last few days that when he jumps to sudden wakefulness in the aftermath of his nightmare tonight, it’s all he can do to kick the sheets, which are soaked through with sweat, to the bottom of the bed and roll over before he’s asleep again. Fitfully, but sleeping nonetheless. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last very long as a shrill _ping_ resonates through his chambers. It’s not the sound that wakes him, though - it’s the sharp staccato of annoyance throbbing through the Force that pulls him from his fitful sleep and thrusts him back into the waking world.

When he opens his eyes, Kylo is greeted by the darkness of his chambers. The bed feels too soft beneath him and he winces at the ripple of irritation that coasts over his skin as he slips, just a little sweaty and slightly breathless, from his bed. He reaches for a black robe and dons it, knotting the belt loosely around his waist so a slight chill ghosts over the exposed skin of his chest.

As the door alarm pings incessantly and the knocking reaches excessive levels, Kylo frowns, moving towards the display monitor mounted on the wall to see who it is. 

He rolls his eyes. _Of course_ it’s Hux. Who else would have the audacity to wake up up in the middle of the night? 

Typing in the correct sequence, the doors whisk open and Hux breezes into his chambers, a flurry of emotions rolling into the room like a fierce thunderhead. It’s hard to distinguish one from the other, but Kylo picks up on annoyance, eagerness, surprise, and, funnily enough, concern. The most apparent, however, is his bewilderment. Even without the Force, it’s easy to see that he’s flustered, though why, Kylo has no idea. 

“What do you want?” he snaps, just a little irritated about being pulled from a pleasant dream - the first one he’s had in months. 

“I-” Hux stops himself, clearly not satisfied with the way he’s beginning his tirade. 

Closing his eyes briefly, Kylo prepares himself for the overbearing monologue of a lecture he’s about to receive from the highest ranking officer in the First Order. It wouldn’t be the first time that Hux has burst into his chambers completely unannounced and berated him for his behavior and he doubts that this will be the last. The only thing is, he hasn’t _done_ anything to constitute this kind of intrusion as he’s been in a deep, meditative state for the last few days, preparing for their arrival at the Citadel. 

For a few moments, Kylo watches, unable to contain his amusement, as a series of emotions play out across his features: a wry twist here, an eyebrow twitch there. A frown, biting down on the inside of his left cheek. Pursed lips, loose lips that move but form no words. A part of him regrets that there’s no one here to witness the man’s utter speechlessness, the cause of which seems to be Kylo’s mere presence. There’s no one to document that he has robbed Hux of his most basic (and annoying) function: talking out of his ass. But the rest of him is _glad_ that he’s the only one who gets to see the general unravel in such a spectacular way because he’s the only one worthy of witnessing it.

And everyone always thought _he_ would be the one to lose his sanity first. 

Before the laugh can escape him, it’s forced back down into his chest as Hux’s slams into him, one hand splayed across Kylo’s chest and the other gripping the back of his neck so hard that Kylo has no choice but to bend to his will. Then Hux’s mouth, hot and wet and demanding, covers his own. 

For a moment, he’s stunned, too surprised by the suddenness of it all to do much else except allow the kiss to happen. Then the full force of Hux’s desire slams into him, robbing him of what little breath remains to him. His entire body is a lightning rod of tension, tight and terse and even if he could move, he’s not sure that he would because the pressure of Hux’s mouth and the sweep of his tongue along Kylo’s bottom lip is just enough for him to sigh, strangely relieved by this turn of events. 

However, before he can open his mouth to deepen the kiss, before he can settle his hands on Hux’s waist and pull him closer, Hux pulls away from him. Suddenly and just a little violently, he pushes Kylo, who is still a little stunned by everything that’s just happened, away from him. The action confuses Kylo, especially since he can still sense the desire rolling off of Hux in such tremendous waves, it’s surprising that neither of them have drowned in them.

Hux’s eyes erupt into icy blue flames that sear his soul just a little bit as he glowers at Kylo. Like it’s _his_ fault that they kissed. 

“Report to Hangar Bay 1138 at 0700,” he hisses, each word dripping with vicious disdain. It’s shocking, but Kylo is hanging on his every word, transfixed by the unbridled anger in his eyes. “That’s an order!”

*

The hyperdrive overheats halfway through their jump and spits them out in the middle of nowhere. A quick scan of the surrounding space shows that there are no systems nearby, which means that there’s no one to help them out.

Which means they’re stranded.

In deep space.

Alone.

“Great!” shouts Hux, throwing up his hands in frustration as he flings himself out of the co-pilot’s seat, rounding on Ren, who stares out of the viewport, his expression unreadable. “Just bloody _perfect!_ I told you we should have let maintainence run a diagnostic check on this ship, but you couldn’t wait to get off that blasted rock!”

“That _rock_ was full of ysalamiri!”

Hux’s eyes go wide as he sputters at Kylo, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his anger. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“If you actually knew anything about the galaxy which you’re fighting for, you would!” shouts Kylo, a flush high in his cheeks. “Instead you’re too concerned with kissing ass -”

“ _I’m_ the kiss ass?” Hux laughs harshly at the implication. “ _You’re_ the one who’s all so eager to jump to the Supreme Leader’s every beck and call. To be a good little boy because your _real_ father wanted nothing -”

The rest of his argument is wrested from his lips as his throat is clamped shut. Despite the fact he knows what’s happening, Hux clutches at his neck, blunted fingernails scraping at the invisible hand curled around his windpipe. 

When Kylo curls his fingers, Hux gargles on the air in his throat. “Don’t you _dare_ speak of that pathetic coward in my presence,” seethes Kylo as he crosses the small space between them, the pressurized cabin air positively crackling with jolts anger and hatred and something else unnamable. 

Kylo looms over him, replacing the invisible hand with his real one. Against his fingers, he can feel Hux’s pulse thrumming frantically and, despite himself, he feels a little thrill of victory in the pit of his stomach. Watching Hux squirm beneath him, _feeling_ his lithe body move against Kylo’s as he struggles to breathe, is more than Kylo can handle. There’s heat - a sudden wave of it radiating off of Hux, who is pressed against the wall of the ship, his wide eyes unreadable as his eyelids flutter. Kylo’s insides feel molten, a slow heat that slithers lower and lower until the burn is almost painful. 

Then he feels Hux lean into the curve of his hand, feels him swallow around the vice of his fingers, and a gasp leaves his lip before he can help himself. Flexing his fingers, Kylo tightens his fingers around the column of Hux’s throat, coaxing the last pockets of air from Hux’s windpipe. The effect is instantaneous: Hux’s pupils become microscopic pinpricks in the blue ocean of his irises just as a spike of pleasure-pain blasts through the Force that scalds the insides of Kylo’s mind.

Gnashing his teeth, Kylo slams down the walls around his mind to block the sudden onslaught of raw emotion, and with a snarl, he releases his hold on Hux, who drops to the floor, limp as a rag doll. Kylo stumbles away from him, nearly tripping over the hem of his long cloak in his haste to get away.

* 

It takes seven hours for someone to respond to their distress beacon and nearly two days for the _Inexorable_ to reach their location, but Hux has never been so relieved to see a Star Destroyer dropping out of hyperspace in all of his life.

The welcoming party is small, consisting of a few mid-ranking officers and Captain Phasma, her chrome-plated armor catching the unforgiving light of the hangar bay in a sharp flare of light that refracts directly into Hux’s eyes as he marches down the ramp to greet her. 

“Captain,” he acknowledges with a nod. 

“General,” she returns in her smooth, even voice, inclining her chin in acceptance of his gratitude. They set off at a brisk clip as they exit the hangar bay. “I apologize for the delay in our arrival, sir. We picked up a Resistance tail in the Sluis sector near Bpfassh that proved difficult to shake.”

“No need to apologize, Captain,” says Hux, squaring his shoulders as he falls into step at her side. Behind them, Kylo Ren looms like a shadow, quiet and black as he follows them. “Your quick response was appreciated.”

As surprised as she is by the statement, Phasma continues down the corridor as if he’d said nothing at all. “I’ve had my men prepare quarters for you and Ren, sir, should you wish to use them.”

She pretends not to notice the slight jolt that stilts Hux’s stride. “Indeed,” is all he says, an odd strain in his voice. It’s harder to ignore the way his gaze slides to his shoulder - to the figure looming tall and silent just a few paces behind him. 

Her own eyes follow the path of his blue gaze and rest upon the man trailing behind him. Phasma has always known Kylo Ren to be a man of few words (he prefers actions - or tantrums, really, one of which she half-expected to be greeted with the moment the shuttle docked, the ramp was lowered, and the two men made their exit, but he’s surprisingly subdued), but this silence is uncharacteristic for him. By now, he’s usually snapped at her for the latest word from the Supreme Leader yet he hasn’t so much as looked at her since they’ve left the hangar bay. 

There are many things that Phasma is, but an unobservant fool is not one of them. From the moment they made their descent, she could tell that there’s something different about the tension between them. It’s always there, a band stretched taut between them, waiting for the slightest hint of encouragement to snap and set off a chain reaction, but there is none of the usual antagonism crackling the air between them. 

Behind the cover of her mask, she raises an eyebrow, her gaze cutting between the two men as she tries to discern the source of the sudden shift. If there’s a fissure, her eyesight is too poor to see it, so she stops looking for it. It’s not her place to question her superiors; if something has happened, it’s unimportant or else they would have notified her. 

Clearing her throat, Phasma slows her pace. “If you’ll excuse me, General, I must return to my inspection of the LU squadron. KN-1891 and HU-4364 will take you the rest of the way to your quarters, if you’ll allow it.”

“Don’t let me keep you from your work, Captain,” Hux says. “You’re dismissed.”

Snapping her heels together, she salutes her superior officer then drops her hand, turning a few degrees to the right to incline her chin towards Ren, who takes no notice of her. 

In all honesty, she prefers it that way because whatever this newfound drama between them may be, regardless of how intriguing it may be, she wants absolutely _no_ part in it.

* 

After some much needed rest, Hux finds a freshly pressed uniform hanging in the closet and dons it, transferring his rank pins to the breast of the new jacket. Stepping in front of the mirror, he lifts the comb to his hair - and pauses at the sight of the bruises circling his neck.

Pushing the collar to the side, he leans in for a closer look. The bruises are a fresh, dark purple that contrast starkly to the paleness of his skin. If he squints, he can see the broken blood vessels swimming in the deep, dark centers of the bruises, vivid little pinpricks of dark red that make a constellation. He swallows, remembering the dark, hooded look in Ren’s eyes as he tightened his hold on Hux’s throat - a tightening that’s mirrored in his groin right now, seizing his desire in a vice. 

With a sharp, agonized groan, Hux steps away from the mirror and slams the closet door shut, his breaths coming in short, fast pants. He smoothes his hands over his head, flattening his closely cropped hair to his skull and, giving a harsh tug on the hem of his uniform jacket, steps out of his room, eager to leave behind the suffocatingly small room for the wide, softly lit corridors of the ship. 

The second he sees Ren leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded over his broad chest, however, Hux contemplates pivoting on his heel and marching back into his room, reputation of being a composed and serious man be damned. The only thing preventing him from giving into his cowardice is the burning gleam in Ren’s eyes that ensnares him, all but physically holding him in place.

When Ren speaks, all traces of his customary smooth and carefully modulated coolness is gone replaced by a rough, raw edge that strikes like flint on his skin, creating sparks. The words seem to choke their way out of his throat as he says, not precisely in a growl but just as good as, “We need to talk.”

Hux’s stomach clenches, the hot burn of desire spearheaded by his internalized and acquaintance-long hatred of the man who stands before him, all broad shoulders and blackness and brooding. He despises everything about Ren: his inability to rein in his emotions, his failure to recognize the value of things before he destroys them, his unpredictably, Snoke’s unexplainable favoritism of him, the stupid smattering of freckles across the planes of his face. 

“No,” Hux says in a stiff clip. “We don’t, Ren, because there is nothing for us to discuss. We are en route to the _Finalizer_ as we speak and once we’re there-”

Ren scoffs, pushing away from the wall to step into the circle of the argument, closer to Hux. He points an accusing finger at the general. “You _know_ that’s not -”

“Once we are there,” Hux continues loudly, speaking over Ren’s annoyed hiss. “We’ll prepare for our jump to the Citadel. What about that is in any way unclear to you?”

Ren’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits as he glares down the length of his nose at Hux. “You coward,” he says in a voice so low that only Hux can hear him. “You claim bravery and valor,” he flicks one of the pins on Hux’s jacket, “yet you refuse to confront me. Why is that, General?” 

Hux watches as Ren pulls back momentarily, shooting a look to the right and then the left. The slight furrow in Ren’s brow means he’s stretching out into the Force and for a moment, he feels a cold black rush bleeding out over him as Ren’s touch ghosts over his mind, but in the blink of the eye, it’s gone. 

Ren turns back to him, taking a step towards him. Instinctively, Hux steps backwards, realizing his mistake as soon as his tailbone hits the wall. Ren braces his hands against the wall on either side of Hux’s head, leaning in so closely that Hux can see the darkened ring of deep brown that circles his black pupils, which are full blown. Almost lazily, he drags his tongue across his lips, wetting them as he draws ever closer to Hux. 

Kylo is so close now that when he breathes, the warmth of his breath plays across Hux’s lips, which tremble a little as Kylo says, in that same rough, raw, and slightly agonized voice, “What are you scared of, Hux?”

A lock of Ren’s thick hair falls into his face, but he doesn’t move to push it back into place, though Hux can’t ignore the itching in his fingers to reach up and do it for the man. The man who he is absolutely convinced is going to devour him whole, right then and right there. 

Hux swallows thickly, his eyes flickering from Ren’s dark eyes to his lips to the long, lean body that’s angled away from him. It would be so easy to prove him wrong. It would be so satisfying to watch Ren’s eyes go wide if he gave into his baser impulses and surged forward to meet Ren, arching his body into Ren’s so he could feel every clench of his abdomen, every sharp inhale of breath as their chests were crushed together. 

It would be so easy and so satisfying and _beyond_ gratifying, which is precisely why he doesn’t do it. 

Instead, he narrows his eyes into impossibly small slits and glowers up at Ren, who doesn’t back down even as Hux draws himself up to his full height, which isn’t much shorter than Ren. While he does place a hand on Ren’s chest, it’s not a gentle one and when he shoves Ren, the taller man stumbles backwards, dazed. 

“Out of my way, Ren.”

Slowly coming back to his senses, Ren shouts after him. “Coward!”

* 

It isn’t too difficult for Hux to avoid Ren in the days following their encounter. He’s fallen grievously behind in all of his work. Field reports, official First Order communiques, transmissions - the amount of data chips filled with information is staggering, to say the very least. Anyone else might have balked at the idea of so much work whilst maintaining their day-to-day duties, but Hux has never been so eager to roll up his sleeves and dive right in.

So he shuts himself away in his quarters, barring all interruptions save for the obvious: emergencies or urgent messages from Snoke. For the first few days, all goes well: there is so much for him to process that he can’t focus on anything but the tremendous amount of work set out for him. However, as the pile of data chips starts to dwindle and the field reports become fewer and farther apart - the Resistance, it seems, is taking a breather from their hit and fade tactics - Hux finds his concentration slipping, his thoughts drifting to soft and supple lips, the electric jolt of desire as it coursed through his veins and burned all constructs of logic away, the tense, smooth muscles beneath his hand. 

Gently, Hux touches the tips of his fingers to the dark bruises that circle his throat. Though the edges have begun to fade into putrid shades of yellow and green, the centers are still a bright, vivid purple. When he applies pressure to the bruises, he sets his teeth against the ripple of pain, swallowing his growl, which isn’t a growl of hurt or agony, but another thing entirely. 

He won’t put a name to it because naming it makes it real, so he ignores it, tugging the collar of his uniform back into place to hide his shame before he goes back to work.

* 

“Master,” breathes Kylo reverently. Tears prick at the backs of his eyes and he swallows thickly, the flood of relief at the sight of his master almost too much to bear.

Kylo drops to his knees in front of Snoke, who sits on a king-like throne in the massive gathering hall of an ancient fortress tucked deep into the mountains of the Citadel, the planet which the Supreme Leader has declared as his home world. The surface is cold and barren, the landscape dull and devoid of most life save the twisting, gnarled trees that dappled the land and the black mountains that jut like jagged shards of obsidian, reaching towards the pallid white sky with tremendous stone fingers. 

All around him, darkness seethes, vicious and violent and visceral. It caresses his face in gentle strokes and a tremor rolls down his back just as the blackness slips over his body, finding the little cracks on the surface and worming its way down deep until it marries his bones. There’s a knot of pressure at the base of his spine, almost like a hand has settled there and is trying to bend his back, and he submits to it, letting the Dark behind him to its will.

His breath catches in his throat as he feels Snoke’s consciousness brush against his mind. It’s oily and acrid, so thick he can taste it on the back of his tongue. Eyes fluttering shut, Kylo bows his head, his thick, dark hair falling around his face in a crude imitation of a halo. 

“Yes, Kylo,” croons Snoke appraisingly. “That’s it. Give into the darkness. Give into _me_.”

Like wispy tendrils of smoke, Snoke slips into his mind and begins his slow, exhaustion excavation of all his thoughts, emotions, and memories since last they met face to face. Most of it is way down deep in his subconscious, miniscule details of faces, of places, of planets. Snippets of conversations, a minor log detail. Throughout the entire process, Kylo remains motionless, bent at the waist and gasping for breath through gritted teeth as each layer of himself is ripped back, stripped, and laid bare for Snoke’s investigation. 

Then he feels a sharp stab into the meat of his being and he’s bleeding in the snow again as the Starkiller crumbles apart around him. Through Snoke’s eyes he watches as he’s dragged, bloodied and broken and thoroughly beaten, through the snow, sagging against a struggling Hux. Just as they board the ship, the image flickers and fades, replaced by the moment in his chambers when Hux caught him by the mouth, surprising him as his tongue swept across his bottom lip and the feeling it roused in the pit of his stomach. Then it fizzles out, the edges burning as he watches his own hand replace the Force around Hux’s throat as he chokes the breath from Hux, flinching as his entire body erupts into involuntary shudders. 

“What’s this?”

“Master, I can explain -”

“Can you?” Snoke snorts derisively. When he frowns, the scar cutting across his upper lip twists cruelly, exposing the left half of his yellowing teeth. “I can sense your confusion, Kylo. It clouds your thoughts. Limits your power.” 

“With your guidance, Master, I can overcome these...feelings I possess for H -” he stops himself before he can say his name. “For the feelings I possess,” he says again, releasing a long, shaky breath. It’s the first time he’s admitted that he feels something more than utter hatred for Hux and despite the fact he feels a flicker of disapproval from Snoke, there’s relief as well. 

Beseechingly, he lifts his eyes to Snoke, leaning towards the dias to grasp at the hem of Snoke’s black robe. “All I need is for you to show me the way.”

For a long time, Snoke is silent in his contemplation. His expression is unreadable, though his eyes hardened as he stares somewhere beyond Kylo’s shoulder, a slight furrow in his heavily scarred brow. If he listens closely, Kylo can pick up on the echoes of Snoke’s thoughts, but he’s careful not to make his presence known, not wanting to push his master beyond the boundaries of his relative calm. 

“Do you love him?”

Despite the grave note in Snoke’s voice, Kylo can’t help but laugh. “Love?” he says, choking on the incredulity he feels. In the mess of complicated emotions he feels for Hux, he is positive that love is _not_ one of them. The insinuation that he might is, quite frankly, offensive. “Of course I don’t _love_ him. Love is pathetic. Love is weakness.”

“But you feel something for him.”

A rush of shame wells within him, deep and impossibly hot. “Yes,” Kylo admits, turning his head to the side, away from his master. 

A small gasp falls from his lips as unseen fingers rip into his consciousness, tearing through his mind until Snoke finds what he’s looking for: the kiss, the shuttle, their confrontation in the hall. All of it torn from the back of his mind and slammed into the forefront with such ferocity, the impact is physical, driving the air from his lungs. Kylo falls forward, the side of his face pressed against the cool stone of the raised dais and writhes as Snoke pulls and plucks images from his mind. 

“Ah,” says Snoke, triumphant. His satisfaction radiates through the Force and Kylo grasps at it, desperate for any feeling to save him from the wretched emptiness he feels. “You want him, yes. You wish to possess him.”

“Y-yes, Master,” Kylo answers shakily, finding it difficult to form words when he can feel the Supreme Leader’s presence in every crack of his mind. His presence is so _black_ , so overwhelming, that he struggles to push through the shroud to speak. “I do.”

“Say it,” Snoke snaps harshly. 

He swallows thickly, his mouth impossibly dry. “I-I want him to be mine.”

Slowly, Snoke pulls back from his mind and leaves Kylo gasping and shuddering on the stone steps. “Then make him yours.”

* 

By the time Kylo gathers enough strength to leave the Citadel, it’s late in the evening and later still when he’s cleared for docking in the hangar bay. His limbs shake with exhaustion as he powers down the shuttle, there’s a thick grit behind his eyes whenever he blinks, and he yawns several times before all of the systems are offline and he can disembark.

Much to his chagrin, Hux is waiting for him at the foot of the ramp, impeccable in his uniform from the freshly starched collar all the way down his shiny boots. 

“Well? How did it go? What did Snoke say?” Hux demands, the click of his jaw as he clenches it audible. 

Something writhes in the pit of Kylo’s stomach as his master’s parting words echoes through his mind. 

_Then make him yours._

There’s a number of reasons why Kylo does what he does next: his exhaustion, the lingering power of Snoke’s words as they lavish his subconscious, or his annoyance that despite the late (or early, depending on how you look at it) hour, Hux looks as well rested as ever, his eyes bright with alertness and his face sharp with curiosity. 

Whatever his reason of choice (he’ll decide later), Kylo says nothing as he grasps Hux’s face between his hands, lowers his head, and kisses him. It’s nothing like their last (first) kiss, which was rough and sloppy and over so quickly that there are times when Kylo doubts that it even happened. No, it’s gentle and simple, a request more than a demand that leaves Kylo aching with the need of a response. 

Hux tenses beneath the pressure of Kylo’s mouth, so much so that Kylo thinks he might do as he did the first (last) time they kissed and shove him away. After a couple of heartbeats, though, he remains motionless, one of his hand trapped between them. He doesn’t pull back, but he doesn’t give into the kiss either, which is why Kylo lessens the pressure and starts to retreat, something he has never done in his life. It’s entirely plausible that Hux reaches this conclusion himself and it’s in the name of personal victory alone that he pushes back against Kylo’s mouth.

The hand on Kylo’s chest - the one Hux held up as Kylo crossed the distance between them in three long strides and capture his lips in a kiss - it skirts over Kylo’s collarbone to settle where his neck meets his shoulder. The tips of Hux’s long, strong fingers brush the pulse point beneath the square of his jaw, stroking the tender skin until he teases a soft moan from Kylo. Hux grins, quick and fast, and Kylo can feel the quirk of his lips just before he opens his mouth to the kiss and licks into Kylo’s mouth. 

Encouraged, Kylo responses in kind, slipping one hand to the back of Hux’s head to twist his fingers into his short ginger hair, the edge of his teeth digging into Hux’s lower lip. When he gives a sharp tug, Hux gasps into his mouth, his upper body arching upwards. Dropping his other hand to Hux’s narrow waist, Kylo grabs a handful of uniform and, with a low, almost predatory growl that rumbles deep in his chest, pulls the general towards him. It changes the angle of their kiss and he’s able to sweep his tongue deeper into Hux’s mouth, which is wet and hot and just as eager to receive his kiss as he is to give it. 

When Hux begins to pull blindly at the folds of Kylo’s cloak, trying to wrest it from his body to feel some actual skin, Kylo breaks the kiss to grab his wrist in a vice. Flushed and panting, they look at each other. There’s no spark of ignition, no jolt of electricity, but there’s need and desperation and yearning. Oh, starts, the yearning. It’s a deep ache that punctures his lungs and sears in the marrow of his bones, and for a moment, Kylo considers releasing his hold on Hux’s wrist and letting the moment be what it is: a moment in which they gave into their baser needs, nothing more, nothing less. 

But then Hux presses his pelvis into Kylo’s and he can feel his erection, heavy against his thigh, and Kylo groans, smothering the sound against Hux’s mouth. Fumbling with buttons and belts, they stumble up the ramp of the shuttle.

* 

Despite the fact he has acknowledged his desire of Hux, there’s still a part of Kylo that hates him and probably always will. He’s rigid and stiff, blindly pursuing power without actually understanding what it means to hold it within one’s grasp and properly wield it. It doesn’t matter how many times they fuck over the next few weeks, it doesn’t change the antagonistic nature of their relationship. Hux continues to drop snide comments about his obsession with finding “that scavenger scum” just as Kylo doesn’t cease his near-constant undermining Hux’s authority at every possibly turn.

Just like he is right now, though in his opinion, he’s not exactly undermining him so much as he’s trying to be subtly helpful without forcefully extracting Hux’s head from up his own ass. 

“I don’t understand how you expect this to work,” Kylo says once the room has cleared out. Red and green and blue lights flicker on the display screens, each cluster of lights denoting class-specific ships: fighters, cruisers, Star Destroyers. The lights dance across Hux’s face, bright little prisms against his skin. “Did Endor teach you nothing?”

Hux, who has been standing at the farthest display screen, his back to Kylo, snorts. “Isn’t that where Darth Vader met his end?” he fires back. 

Kylo grinds his teeth, swallowing the acrid remark that burns on the back of his tongue. “It’s a trap, Hux,” he manages to say, though the words are muffled by his clenched teeth. “Can’t you see that? Rumors of General So -” he stops, gnashes his teeth and continues. “The rumors of their leader’s disappearance are clearly a lure for idiots dumb enough to believe it. If she was truly missing, they would have kept it quiet, not spread the word so far and wide that it’s reached our ears.”

Hux marks something on the board before he turns to look at Kylo, who is perched on the edge of his chair, leaning forward on his elbows on the glass table. His helmet sits nearby, abandoned as soon as the last of the captains shuffled out of the room, and his hair is wildly disheveled. Hux’s fingers curl around the stylus in his hand as he ignores the desire to comb his fingers through the thick, untameable locks. 

“Scans of the planet show signs of life and the distress beacon -”

“Is a trap, yes, we’ve already established that,” says Kylo, barely containing the roll of his eyes. 

“The distress beacon signal matches Resistance codes,” Hux says loudly, talking over Kylo just as he always does when the other insists on interrupting him. “Did you not listen to a single word of this briefing? Two of my best recon teams were dispatched to the surface at 0500, they found the wreckage at 0619 and _both_ ships are known Resistance vessels, one of them is General Sol -”

“Crashes can be faked,” Kylo interrupts before he can say _her_ name. “The fact that the ship was so easily identified as her vessel makes me even more suspicious of it being a trap.”

Hux doesn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes, but then again, he never has, always throwing his blatant irritation with Kylo right into his face. “Perhaps you don’t _want_ it to be her. Especially since -” Hux hesitates for a moment and then gives a small shake of his head, deciding against it. 

Kylo narrows his eyes at the general. “Since what? Since I murdered my father?”

It’s his own fault for not anticipating the reaction. All the same, Hux sighs, kneading his forehead in an attempt to rub away the tension headache building behind his eyes. “Kylo, I didn’t mean -”

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t mean,” he snaps, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Facts are facts. It happened: I murdered my father. I did it. And no, it’s not that I don’t want it to be my mother; she means nothing to me because she _is_ nothing to me.” He speaks the words as if they are poison and to Kylo, they may as well be. 

Ben Solo is dead just as Han Solo is dead just as Leia Organa Solo will be one day. Whether by his hand or not, that’s another matter entirely and one completely unrelated to the conversation at hand. 

Kylo doesn’t miss the flicker of shock on Hux’s face, though he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“If her existence is inconsequential to you,” begins the general, clasping his hands behind his back as he starts to pace in front of the large table. He pivots on his heel, pinning Kylo with a sharp stare. “Then why are you so opposed to this?”

The flare of anger is so hot and sudden, it’s a miracle he doesn’t burst into flames of fury at that precise moment. He does his best to swallow his outburst, but it scalds the back of his tongue and makes the inside of his mouth taste of brimstone. He tries to control it; really, he does. Not for Hux’s sake, but for his own because he doesn’t know how many damn times he can say this before the message sinks into Hux’s unbelievably tiny and obtuse mind, though apparently there’s still a few times left in him because after a handful of tense moments of fighting the urge, he can’t help it. 

Like the volcanic world of Mustafar, he erupts. 

_”Because it’s a fucking trap!”_

* 

“Sir, radar is picking up on Resistance signals!” one of the communications officer - a young woman with dark skin and intuitive eyes - says just as another voice shouts, “Two Mon Calamarian Star Cruisers have just dropped into orbit!”

Kylo curses under his breath.

Against his every insistence of the contrary, Hux assembled a team consisting of four Stormtrooper squadrons, over a dozen AT-AT walkers, and several dozen speeder bikes to investigate the crash site, convinced that he was right and Kylo was wrong. The only thing they did agree on, however, was limiting contact between the ground assault team and the _Finalizer_ and as such, they hadn’t received a transmission in over seven hours. 

In any other circumstance, Kylo would relish being right, but this is not one of those time. 

The only thing that makes the situation a little less hellacious is the fact that he hasn’t been left in charge of the ship. No, that duty falls to Captain Tam, who rises to the occasion admirably. He manages to keep everyone calm and focused on the task at hand. After all, what are two Star Cruisers against a Dreadnaught-class Star Destroyer?

Five minutes into the engagement, two more Resistance ships drop out of hyperspace, but even then, the First Order has ten men to every one of the Resistance’s and double the amount of firepower on one vessel alone. Kylo feels a definitive increase in panic among the bridge crew, but Captain Tam keeps them in line, barking out orders at anyone who goes even the slightest bit wide-eyed. 

Then the radar gives a piercing shriek as seven ships, three of which are Star Cruisers, flicker into existence and an unseen force of X-Wings enters the fray, exploding out of the belly of one of the smaller freighters, led by that insufferable jackass Poe Dameron, that the bridge disintegrates into complete and total chaos. 

Now, there’s a leak in the ship’s reactor, two of the three TIE squadrons at their disposal have been eliminated, and Captain Tam is scrambling to find a solution to an unsolvable problem. They’ve lost, that much is clear even to Kylo, and to try and continue to engage the Resistance when they’ve been so severely crippled would be folly. 

“Orders, sir?”

The captain shoots him a wary look, to which Kylo nods. “Retreat. Recall all fighters and spool up the hyperdrive.”

Kylo scowls, curling his hands into fists at his sides, and looks to the communications officer. There’s panic in her eyes, which makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. He tightens his fists until his fingers carve half-moons into the fleshy part of his hands, until he can feel little rivulets of blood leaking out between his clenched fingers. 

He’s not in command because he doesn’t know how to lead a force into battle; he only knows himself and the Force and usually, that’s enough for him, but the one person who should have listened to him stubbornly refused.

He watches as another TIE fighter is blown to smithereens, unable to wince even as the flames erupt into a bright burst of orange-red light. He’s too focused on the peculiar feeling that’s eating away at his thoughts, gobbling up his concentration that should be focused on turning this battle around, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t see the obvious: they’ve lost. There _is_ no way to turn this around, so why risks more lives unnecessarily in a gambit that won’t pay off?

Clenching his jaw, Kylo turns away from the viewport, pivoting on his heel in the direction of the communications sector of the bridge. “Lieutenant Dualla?” He’s careful to keep his voice modulated so as to not let his _worry_ bleed into his words. “Is General Hux on board?”

There’s a series of clicks as her fingers dance across the keyboard. “Negative, sir. His shuttle hasn’t returned and there have been no communications that suggest he’s left the planet.”

Kylo bites down on the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he allows the pain and frustration to bleed through him just as his blood slips through the tiny cracks between his fingers. 

“Prepare my shuttle,” he says.

“But sir-” Her eyes go wide as the words are forced from her throat, the vein in her temple throbbing as she gasps for breath. 

“Do it.”

* 

When Hux wakes up, his eyes are so heavy he can barely blink away the layer of sleep clouding his vision. In a way, he’s grateful: the room is far too bright, which can only mean one thing: he’s ended up in the medical bay. His senses come back to him slowly, one at a time: the roughness of the standard issue sheet draped across his body; the steady beeping of one of the monitors to his left, just above his head; the sharp, clean smell of antiseptic in the air.

He begins his assessment of his injuries by wiggling his toes, which respond almost immediately to his command. His knees bend properly when he flexes them, though the right one gives a twinge of complaint that makes him suck in a harsh breath through his teeth. He can’t see if there are any bandages on his thigh, what with the blanket and all, but he can only guess that _something_ happened at some point during their escape from the planet to cause such pain even after medical treatment. 

An escape that wouldn’t have been possible if Kylo hadn’t come back for them. 

For _him_.

Once upon a time, the thought of owing anything to the likes of Kylo Ren would have made him sick to his stomach. Being indebted to someone is never ideal, but it is preferable to death, which would have been certain if Kylo hadn’t broken protocol and come to their rescue. His only regret is that Kylo now has the upper hand. He has leverage. Should he wish to do so, Kylo could hold it over him, make his life a living hell. 

Hux can’t help but laugh as the thought crosses his mind. No, his life is already hell - or will be once word of this latest defeat reaches Snoke. If his reaction is anything like his wrath following the destruction of the Starkiller, perhaps it would have been better if Kylo had left him for dead. 

He chokes a little, his laughter having scraped the insides of his throat, which is raw and dry, and the cruel twist of his mirth turns into a coughing fit that further irritates his damaged windpipe. His heart rate jumps and the monitor beeps accordingly, the high-pitched ping of the machine seeming to punctuate each cough. 

By the time he recovers from the fit, there’s a flush high in his cheeks and the room spins around him, little pinpricks of light wheeling in front of his eyes.

The cool air stings as he gulps down a few greedy breaths, his chest heaving with effort. With a gentle sigh, he settles back against the pillows and scans the room, which is truly more of a cubicle consisting of three solid walls and a thin curtain that is rustled by the slightest disturbance. Beneath the hem, he sees the edge of a shadow. It’s a thin shadow that grows larger as the sound of footsteps approaches. Ropes of anticipation tighten around his stomach, the air in his lungs burning as he holds his breath. 

Brushing the curtain aside, Kylo steps into view, though he makes no move forward. Lingering in the doorway, with the light flooding around his lean frame, he looks vaguely wraith-like; his hair is disheveled and even from here, Hux can see the dark circles beneath his eyes. 

“You’re awake.”

“An astute observation.”

Kylo pulls a face, pressing his lips into a thin line. “You’ve been unconscious for the last three days,” he says, shouldering his way into the small cubicle, which seems to shrink as his bulk dominates the space. “I expected you to still be asleep.”

Hux raises an eyebrow. “You sound disappointed that I’m not.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“Regretting your decision to rescue me?”

“No,” answers Kylo, the degree of honesty in his voice catching Hux off-guard. There’s a stool shoved into the corner of the cubicle near the computer, which Kylo drags to the side of his bed. He looks ridiculous, almost like a bird, as he perches on the edge of it. “I sense _your_ reservations about my decision, though.”

“Oh?” is all Hux says, absently pulling at a loose thread on the bedsheet. 

When he raises his eyes to Kylo’s face, he expects to see victory carved into his peculiar features: eyes alight with triumphant, a wry quirk to his lips, the slight dimple in the apple of his left cheek. Needless to say, he’s taken aback by the intensity of his gaze as it settles upon Hux, the full weight of it driving the breath from his lungs. It’s honest and surprisingly tender, though he sees the dark smolder in the depths of his brown eyes; it’s arresting, but alluring. Hux can’t tear his eyes away. 

“You needn’t fear Snoke,” says Kylo, with a stiff upper lip. “The situation has been resolved.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the responsible parties have all been dealt with accordingly.”

“But -”

“Captain Tam and several of his subordinates did not meet leadership requirements befitting of officers of the First Order. Snoke found his command to be...lacking, for want of a better word,” Kylo says, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he spoke. He locks his jaw, grinding his teeth as he glares down at Hux. “Is there a problem, General? You seem confused by my explanation. In what way was I unclear?”

“In every way, _Ren_ ,” Hux snipes, unable to resist the goading just as he’s always unable to resist the bait dangled in front of him. “You and I both know that Captain Tam handled the situation to the best of his ability and that the true responsibility lies with -”

“The matter has been resolved,” Kylo says again.

“What I want is for the truth to be -”

“For fuck’s sake, Hux, shut up! Are you always so goddamn unappreciative?” Kylo snaps, his eyes flashing with warning. Hux’s mouth snaps shut. “I tell you that the situation has been handled and that you’ve escaped punishment yet you’re still not satisfied? What more could you want from me?”

Hux twists his fingers around a handful of sheet, surprised by the force of his anger. Perhaps some of Kylo’s anger is bleeding into him, sustaining him. “Oh, so _that’s_ what this is about! You want praise and recognition then, is that it? You follow your orders from Snoke to rescue me and what do you expect of me? Gratitude? Should I clamor out of bed and fall at your feet to worship at the altar of Kylo Ren?” Hux snorts derisively, shaking his head. “That’s pathetic, Ren, even for you.”

The muscles in Kylo’s cheek ripple as he clenches and unclenches his jaw, struggling to contain himself. It would be so easy to give into his anger, to succumb to his hatred for Hux, but the problem is, those aren’t the only feelings he holds for the man. Not anymore. Loath as he is to admit it, he cares for Hux. It’s the reason why he abandoned all reason and flew to his rescue in the heat of battle. It’s the reason why he looked his master in the eye as Snoke combed through his mind with vicious fingers, searching for the truth Kylo buried down so deep in a trench of lies that Snoke was unable to root it out. He’s lied to his master and delivered the death sentence to Tam and Dualla and four other officers who’d been rendered speechless in the face of their fear - their fear of _him_. 

He swallows the acid on his tongue and drops his voice to a pitch that only Hux can hear. “I wasn’t ordered to save you, Hux - it was my decision to not abandon you and your men on the planet. I chose to come back for you.” His eyes pierce Hux with the force of his spite. “I’m only just now realizing my mistake.”

Hux flinches, falling back into the pillows. “Kylo -”

“No, shut up!” He leaps from his perch on the stool so forcefully, it clatters to the floor with a loud bang that bounces off the walls of the empty medical wing. “Just - shut the fuck up! Do you have _any_ idea what I’ve done for you? I _lied_ for you, Hux. Even as Snoke tore through my mind and ravaged my thoughts, I lied to him - for you! I sentenced six innocent people to death so that you could live - and - and - you think I want _praise_ for that? What I want is for you to keep your damn mouth shut so everything that I’ve done, all of the people who had to die so you could live, wouldn’t be in vain.” 

Chest heaving with effort, their eyes meet and the flint is struck, igniting a spark that sends his body alight with the flames of shame. In a maelstrom of rage, Kylo storms out of the medical bay, the atmosphere positively quaking with the force of his wrath. 

Hours after he’s left, Hux is still trying to wrap his head around the moment when the balance between them shifted and his entire world was thrown off-kilter.

* 

The thought of apologizing to Kylo Ren is more agonizing than having Snoke ransack his mind, an ordeal that Hux endures, trembling as his entire life is rifled through by cold, unseen fingers that claw at his thoughts and slither into the darkest spaces of his mind, filling him to the brim with dread and loathing and agony. Apparently satisfied with his findings, Snoke dismisses him and, sweaty and panting and weak-limbed, he returns to the _Finalizer_ , relaying Snoke’s message to his top men. He tries to delay the inevitable for as long as he can, but there is little for him to do in the way of proper work, so he swallows the lump in his throat, lifts his chin, and travels the familiar path to Kylo’s quarters.

Hux rings the bell five times before Kylo answers, the whisk of the door sliding open stirring the loose strands of his hair. “What?” he all but back, the harshness making Hux wince.

“May I come in?”

“Does Snoke have a message for me?”

“No.”

“Then no,” Kylo says, stretching his arm across the width of the doorway, barring Hux from entering. “You can’t come in.”

Hux narrows his eyes at the dark haired main. “You’re going to have to talk to me eventually, Kylo,” he says softly. “You can’t continue to avoid me like this. Don’t try to deny it either.”

“Of course I’m avoiding you.” Kylo’s laugh is sarcastic and jarring, grating against Hux’s eardrums unpleasantly. “I want nothing to do with you. Now please, leave before you force me to embarrass you again.”

Kylo slams his palm on the control panel and the door begins to slide shut, but Hux wedges his foot against the frame, preventing it from closing all of the way. “No,” he says, gritting his teeth against the pain in his foot. 

“No?” Kylo chuckles again. “What did they fuse to your spine to give you such a strong backbone?”

Hux ignores the insult, pressing against the door with the side of his foot until the mechanism recognizes the blockage and slides back into place. For a moment, he holds Kylo’s dark gaze, silently challenging the other to try and turn him away again. 

With a slight roll of his eyes, Kylo steps to the side, creating an opening wide enough for Hux to slip through if he turns his body. Shouldering his way into the room, he waits until the door has slid shut before he makes his case. 

“I realize my accusations from the other day were unfounded and I wanted to say I’m -” His breath stoppered, Hux touches his fingers to his throat even as his mouth forms soundless words. The invisible hand flexes, tightening. His eyes flutter as desire pools in his groin. As Kylo closes the gap between them, Hux remembers how supple the warm leather of Kylo’s glove felt on the column of his throat as his hand closed around it, squeezing. 

A strangled groan falls from Kylo’s lips and plays out in a warm breath of air across Hux’s mouth, which makes his eyes snap open. The height difference between the two is practically nonexistent, only a handful of inches, so that when he opens his eyes, he’s staring directly into Kylo’s eyes; they’re dark - darker than Hux has ever seen them - and hooded by the full force of their joined desire. Not for the first time, Hux wishes he could experience even a fraction of what Kylo is able to feel due to his deep connection to the Force. 

Again, Kylo curls his fingers and the invisible hand at Hux’s throat tightens with it, drawing out a sharp, ragged gasp that’s echoed in the ripple of anticipation that shivers through Kylo. After a few shallow intakes of breath, Kylo gives a jerk of his hand and Force-pulls Hux’s mouth to his.

The kiss is sloppy and wet, a fierce duel of tongues that ends when Hux coughs into the kiss, the grip on his throat is so tight. Kylo breaks away, chuckling softly as he touches his fingertips to Hux’s lips. “Sorry,” he mumbles against the pillow of Hux’s mouth, scraping the syllable against his lower lips. 

“N-No,” Hux gasps, touching the tip of his tongue to the corner of Kylo’s mouth. His hands settle at Kylo’s waist, pushing at the fabric of his shirt to get at the skin of his lower abdomen. His grasp is tight, the pads of his fingertips digging into his skin. “No, I’m sorry,” he says, pushing himself forwards so their lips meet again in another desperate kiss.

Kylo’s mouth is warm and forgiving as Hux cups the hard line of his jaw in the palm of his hand, his fingers tangling in the long wisps of thick, black hair just behind the shell of his ear. Teeth bite and pull, tongues touch and retreat, a dizzying dance that leaves his vision spotty with white bursts of light. 

He pulls his own lips away from the supple bow of Kylo’s lower lip, which is bright red and swollen, trailing them along the rise of his cheekbone. “I’m sorry,” Hux mumbles against the hollow his cheek. 

Teeth scrape over the edge of Kylo’s jaw, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from the man.

“I’m sorry,” he mouths wet as he licks strip down the column of Kylo’s throat. His tongue circles a dark mole on the side of his neck, contemplating its circumference teasingly before he angles his mouth and suckles on his pulse point hard enough to leave a mark. Before the groan of protest can escape the other, Hux moves on, slipping down to his knees and rucking up Kylo’s shirt until he removes it completely and _really_ sets to work.

Later, after they’ve both cleaned up and have settled into bed, Hux leans over to run his fingers over the fresh bruise, a triumphant smile sweeping across his lips. 

Kylo catches the look in his cold blue eyes and, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, grabs the hand at his throat and brings the outstretched fingers to his lips. 

"You're the worst."


End file.
